Semantics and Required Reading
by Saturnian Dreamer
Summary: Leave it to Thelma to remember something Catalina once said about friendship. (D/G)


**Title** : Semantics and Required Reading

 **Rating** : T

 **Category** : gen, het, romance

 **Characters or pairings** : Davenport/Goddard, appearances by the crew.

 **Note** : Takes place sometime after Goddard gets of the healing chamber in Season 2. And, wow, there are so many callbacks in this one! I love writing banter.

 **Disclaimer** : I don't own them, I just wanted to write about them. Points to anyone who catches the Firefly reference. I don't own Firefly either.

 **Description** : Leave it to Thelma to remember something Catalina once said about friendship.

* * *

 **Semantics and Required Reading**

After another close call with a Spung killcruiser, the students were cheering in the Command Post, celebrating their latest great escape. Commander Goddard let out a relieved sigh, ran a hand through his hair, and turned to check on how Miss Davenport was fairing. She managed a weak smile and a shake of her head in return.

Spung sightings were all too common anymore: pit stops as the crew plotted a course for home. They seemed to be routine to the point where the students would see a Spung killcruiser on the monitors, roll their eyes, and say, "Here we go again." Davenport feared this kind of behavior would lead to sloppy habits and desensitization, but she was also envious of the crew's ability to take these things in stride. The kids made facing off against Spung warriors look so easy, while every encounter was just as taxing for her.

Goddard approached Davenport and nudged her out of her stunned state. "Hey, you okay?"

"We've had too many close calls," she replied. She looked over at the rest of the crew who were too distracted by their triumphant round of high-fives to pay her any mind. "It is almost as if the Spung are tracking us. And before you say I sound paranoid as usual, you must admit the attacks are happening more frequently." A sigh and then, "I just want to go home."

"That's what we all want," Goddard replied.

"You don't," she retorted.

"What?"

"You love it out here commanding the crew. You feel comfortable here. This is what you are meant to do. This is what _they_ are meant to do. But I know I don't belong out here, and I certainly don't want to die out here."

Goddard frowned. "You belong as much as any of us. You're meant to be a teacher, not an assistant principal. I don't think you ever really enjoyed being the disciplinarian. All the bureaucracy: paperwork and red tape. Did you really like all that?"

Davenport gave him a noncommittal shrug.

"Out here, you have the opportunity to see all of the amazing phenomena you've ever read about. And you can teach these kids everything you know. They're lucky to have you here. They've already learned so much from you, and they will continue using that knowledge to get every single one of us home safely. We can't make it back without you. So if we are meant to be out here, so are you."

Davenport didn't know how to take the compliment or respond to Goddard's attempt at a bonding moment, so she settled on breaking eye contact, crossing her arms, and offering a half-hearted, "That is just like you, to use my logic against me."

The Commander saw through her facade immediately. He grinned and replied with a pointed, "You're welcome."

Harlan had been preoccupied with giving Bova a friendly noogie, but he finally took note of the sidebar's serious tone and decided to interrupt. "Are you two fighting again? It's getting kinda old." He released the young tactical officer, giving the adults his full attention. "Don't you think you should learn to put your differences aside and work as a team? You helped the rest of us do it. Maybe you should think about setting a good example."

Goddard opened his mouth to correct Harlan and defend himself when Thelma suddenly appeared next to him, invading his personal space.

"It is nice to see Miss Davenport and Commander Goddard fighting," the android announced with a mechanical smile. Recalling something Catalina once told her, she continued, "Friends yell at each other because they care. And they only fight about stuff that really matters. From this information I must conclude that because the Commander and Miss Davenport fight so often, they must matter a great deal to each other."

All five students attempted to hide their knowing smiles and chuckles but failed spectacularly, in spite of their best efforts. The adults were mortified.

"You two do fight like an old married couple," Harlan offered. "What gives?"

T.J. and Seth glanced at each other, and then looked away. Goddard spoke up first. "Any issues Miss Davenport and I may or may not have with each other are strictly our own business."

"Quite right," Davenport chimed in. "We would appreciate it if you stayed out of our personal affairs."

" _Affairs_ , huh?" Harlan teased, wagging his eyebrows.

Goddard's face turned red with anger. Davenport's flushed red with embarrassment.

"You know very well what I meant, Mr. Band," Davenport replied.

Kind, sweet Rosie was the first to head for the jumptubes. "C'mon, guys. Let's go to the Lounge. We should leave them alone."

"Leave them alone," Suzee smirked, following suit, "to their _affairs_."

Goddard scrubbed his hand down his face, and Davenport pinched the bridge of her nose to stave off a headache as the students made their exit. Radu was the last to leave, giving the Commander and teacher an apologetic look before disappearing down the tubes. It was Thelma who broke the silence.

"Did I screw up?" the android wondered.

Davenport's patience was wearing thin, and she dismissed the android through gritted teeth. "That will be all, Thelma. Thank you."

Thelma offered a mechanical smile and an oblivious "You are most welcome" before shuffling off, leaving the adults alone in the Command Post.

Davenport cleared her throat. "How do you suggest we go about diffusing this situation, Commander?"

Goddard shrugged. "I think we should just let it go. It's just harmless teasing, and letting the kids know it bothers us will only give them an excuse to keep doing it."

"Well, I am confident in the fact that I would never—"

"Never?" Goddard repeated in disbelief.

"Our first priority is getting home, and this is neither the time nor the place for distractions."

His smug smile grew wider. "So I'm a distraction?"

"No!" Davenport quickly corrected herself. "I mean to say—generally and hypothetically speaking—it would be extremely irresponsible and inappropriate for a relationship to get in the way of one's responsibility to one's crew."

"So you've thought about it, then?"

"Commander! Please stop putting words in my mouth. I never said—"

"Honestly, it's crossed my mind more than a few times," he offered with a nonchalant shrug.

Davenport was rendered speechless. She stared at him, her eyes wide as she tried to process this information. She didn't know whether she should feel scandalized or thrilled. What she did know was her heart was beating double-time and there was a good possibility she would faint if she dwelled on the matter. Best to shoot down the idea and put it behind them.

"Well of course _you_ would think about something like that," she huffed. "Men and their inappropriate _thoughts_. You could be stuck with any woman in the universe and you would still have _thoughts_ about her."

Goddard was satisfied with how he'd managed to wind her up, and he seized the opportunity to clarify, "Well I'm not 'stuck with any woman in the universe.' I have the privilege of being here with you."

Davenport remained dumbfounded. Her voice lacked any confidence when she asked, "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Never mind. You're right," Goddard conceded, not wishing to embarrass himself any further when she obviously didn't reciprocate his feelings. Best to shoot down the idea and put it behind them. "Generally speaking, it's irresponsible and inappropriate for any commanding officer to prioritize romance over their duties. Relationships complicate things, cause bitter breakups, and disrupt team dynamics. It's why I never got too attached to anyone I worked with in the STARDOGs."

"Never?" It was her turn to stare in disbelief. Davenport quirked a skeptical eyebrow, and Goddard mirrored her quizzical expression. "You never once defied fraternization rules and pursued a physical relationship with any of your former crewmates?"

Goddard crossed his arms and stood toe to toe with her. "Physical relationship, huh? 'Physical' being the qualifier? Not romantic? Why the distinction? And what makes you think I'm incapable of having both with one person?"

"I just assumed you weren't one for romance, it is rare for anyone to have a lasting satisfying combination of both, and you're dodging the question."

"You're being cynical, Miss Davenport. And I'm slightly offended. I can be romantic. And I have more self control than you might think." He smiled at her—a genuine smile—and was proud to find that he had her blushing. "There are plenty of women who would love to share my company for seven years."

"A pity I'm not one of them," Davenport retorted hotly, instantly regretting her protests when Goddard's face fell.

"A pity," he agreed.

Davenport took a shaky breath as her mind worked to cobble together some sort of apology or explanation, but the usually eloquent woman was once again at a loss for words.

Goddard pressed on, deflecting, "So you, in your tenure at the Starcademy, never once lusted after any of your coworkers?"

Davenport narrowed her eyes. "Commander, I do not _lust_. And even if I were prone to doing so—and to reiterate, I am not—it would be extremely unprofessional and against Starcademy policy to act on feelings of that nature."

"But..." Goddard prodded, continuing to make Davenport visibly uncomfortable.

"But—not that it is any of your business—I did on occasion find myself thinking about a colleague in a vaguely romantic fashion. I do have feelings, as difficult as that may be for you to believe. However I do prefer to keep any remotely unprofessional thoughts confined to daydreams."

"So you, being prone to secret emotional _affairs_ —"

"Very much regret using that terminology."

"—assume that I have the habit of becoming involved in purely physical relationships of convenience. Interesting. Very interesting."

"Is it?"

"It is. So I have to wonder—"

"Could we please put an end to this conversation?"

"—what you thought would happen between—"

"You and I should not be discussing this!" Davenport snapped. She took a deep breath, her glare softened, and Goddard swore he saw something other than resentment or anger in her eyes when she added quietly, "Commander, please."

Goddard nodded slowly, processing the bit of unspoken information as his smile faded. "Okay."

True to his word, Goddard stopped his line of questioning. There was a loaded pause. The tension lingered around them, refusing to dissipate.

Davenport cleared her throat. "I've changed my mind. I decidedly prefer awkward conversation to uncomfortable silence."

Goddard shifted his weight, becoming less defensive and more relaxed as he leaned casually against the helm. He circled back to the original point, now carefully considering their discussion. "Thelma said friends fight because they care."

Davenport gulped and folded her arms across her chest. "So I suppose that means you and I are friends?"

This time Goddard was truly stunned. "Aren't we?"

A look of regret flickered over Davenport's face as she chewed on her lower lip and looked away, refusing to acknowledge the question. Why did she keep making this more difficult? A few more seconds of painful stillness passed before Goddard recovered.

"Well whatever we are, I know I still care. And I think you do too. With the amount of time that we spend fighting, I figure Thelma is right. We both must care a lot."

She shrugged, feigning indifference. "If you say I must."

He ignored her and continued thinking aloud as he connected a few lingering dots and came to another realization, "Assuming we're friends, friends fight about things that matter, right?"

"But we were just fighting about..."

Oh.

Goddard brushed past Davenport on his way to the jumptubes, emotionally exhausted. "I'll be in my bunk. As always, it's been a pleasure fighting with you," he deadpanned.

T.J. knew they couldn't end their conversation this way. Seth had keyed in the code to his rooms when she blurted out the one thing she knew would stop him. "You realize of course you're wrong."

Goddard turned around immediately.

"The reason why we fight: I don't think it's because we are friends," she admitted, lowering her voice. "It is because we can't be more than that."

Goddard's face fell. T.J.'s confession was a lot to take on. He'd silently hoped that she cared for him. He'd assumed as much at the start of their journey when she made the mistake of admitting she admired him, or at least hinted at the fact when she declared his early work was "required reading." As often as they fought, it was never malicious: they simply came from different schools of thought. She was an academic, and he was an adventurer. She was by the book and he preferred to improvise, having thrown the rulebook out the proverbial window a long time ago. At one point he had literally flushed a document cell containing Davenport's Starcademy rulebook out the airlock (and was quite disappointed but not surprised to learn she was in possession of a backup copy).

T.J. never thought she and Seth would be friends. They had never seen eye-to-eye, and the circumstances under which they met face-to-face hadn't boded well. Davenport had once thought of herself as a glorified babysitter for Goddard when he was placed under her supervision, though she supposed he felt the same when he learned he would be teaching a bunch of misfit students. T.J. and Seth's relationship had grown from resentment to tolerance to reluctant respect to equals, but she didn't dare take it even one step further. She knew that if she labeled their status as friends that it would only take a nudge before she fell for him completely, and she couldn't allow herself to do that. There was too much at stake, too much to lose. Things were a lot simpler when she thought he hated her. But playing with his emotions and denying how she felt wasn't fair to either of them, and he deserved to know where she stood. Even without the labels, the two adults were indeed friends. And T.J. had just given her true feelings away. And maybe he would go back to resenting her. As much as she would resent herself for pushing him in that direction, it seemed to be the safest option.

"Friends. But we can't be more than that?" Goddard repeated, slowly processing her declaration. "Can't? Or shouldn't."

T.J. gulped. "Semantics aside—"

"No. Semantics are important," Seth debated. "So. Can't? Or shouldn't?"

By this point, T.J. was fighting to keep the tears at bay. "This was a terrible idea."

She moved to pivot around him, but he caught her by her elbow. She was unable to look away once their eyes met again. Her heart was in her throat as he inched closer. She closed her eyes and felt her first tears fall as his lips ghosted over hers in a chaste kiss that ended all too soon. He pulled away ever so slightly so there was barely a breath between them. When she looked up, she was stunned to find tracks from her tears on his face.

"Shouldn't," he whispered, "doesn't mean can't."

T.J. felt her face getting hot and was certain she was turning as red as Rosie. Her heart was hammering in her ears. She gripped Seth's arm and convinced herself she did so not because she wanted more physical contact, but because she feared she would faint if she didn't hold on to something. "Where is the self-control you spoke of earlier, Commander?"

"What was it you said earlier about keeping your desires confined to daydreams, Miss Davenport?"

She was a goner. "Oh for pity's sake."

He flashed his signature wry smile, thumbing the tears off of her face and his. "Pity?"

That was her undoing. "To hell with it," she decided aloud, before capturing Seth's mouth with her own. She was glad—more than glad—when he responded instantly. She pulled him closer as he cupped her head in his hands, lightly stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Moments later, they pulled apart, though not very far. She touched her forehead to his and looked up at him through her long lashes.

"Not that I'm complaining—at all, mind you—but what just happened here?" Goddard wondered.

"It would appear that in a matter of minutes we have just broken our own personal rules and the official Starcademy and STARDOG policies regarding fraternization," T.J. replied.

"Guess I'm a bad influence. Sounds like you're taking a page from my book."

T.J. beamed up at him. "Required reading."


End file.
